By the time Evening light stretched long across the academy halls, Celine was already certain of one thing.
Aurelia Valen had been set adrift. Not loudly. Not suddenly. The best outcomes rarely were.
Aurelia had taken Mira in without hesitation. Of course she had. Responsibility clung to her like a second skin. She would never abandon someone asking for help, even when she herself was drowning.
Celine walked through the upper corridor, fingers resting lightly against the railing, her steps measured and unhurried. Students passed her in small clusters, voices overlapping..
"Her Study time is diluted and focus split." she thought calmly.
"She won't even notice what she's losing," Celine continued inwardly, "until she realizes there isn't enough time left."
That alone would have dulled Aurelia's edge. But end-semester evaluations were not won through dulling alone. They required certainty. Celine needed to make sure Aurelia lost.
Celine turned toward the faculty wing, her steps unhurried, mind already moving ahead. In there, the Exam Council Room lay quiet, tucked away from student traffic. Access was restricted, but not watched closely. Trust was the academy's greatest vulnerability.
Trust, Celine had learned long ago, was simply another assumption waiting to be exploited.
As she approached the wing, faint footsteps echoed ahead.
Celine slowed.
A thin layer of shadow gathered at her feet, subtle and natural, folding into the dimness already present in the hallway. Her Shadow magic concealed her entirely. It softened her presence. Blurred attention. A passing glance would slide right over her.
She moved past two instructors mid-conversation without either noticing the slight shift in the air.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of parchment and old magic. Shelves lined the walls, heavy with records and sealed documents. This was where futures were weighed and sorted. The Exam council was responsible for making the Test papers.
Professor Alex Veyne stood near the window, speaking softly with another faculty member. He was young for his position. Tall, skinny, posture slightly slouched. Messy brown hair refused to stay combed, and thin-framed glasses slid down his nose whenever he grew animated. A prodigy during his student years. Brilliant. Earnest. Too kind for his own good. He laughed gently at something said, nodded, then excused himself and left the room.
Celine waited.
When the door closed, she moved.
The exam papers were stored in a reinforced locker at the back of the room, layered with complex locks. Strong enough to deter students.
Celine placed her hand against the metal. Insight activated.
The locker did not open. It didn't need to.
Information flowed outward instead. Structures. Emphases. Questions, Answers. Which topics were weighted heavier. Which theories were disguised as trick questions.
Her eyes softened. She absorbed everything. Every question. Every expected answer. Every obscure reference Professor Veyne favored. When she stepped back, the locker remained sealed. Untouched.
"Perfect!" Celine thought. As she left the same way she entered. Unnoticed
--------------------------------------------------------------
Knowing the questions was only half the work.
Others needed to not know them.
The academy library stood apart from the rest of the grounds, tall and solemn, its stone walls older than most of the wings students frequented. Sunlight filtered through high arched windows, illuminating rows of towering shelves that stretched upward like quiet sentinels. Dust drifted lazily in the beams of light, disturbed only by the soft turning of pages and the occasional shuffle of footsteps. It was a place meant for discipline.
Behind the long wooden counter sat the librarian.
She was a heavyset woman in her fifties, shoulders perpetually slumped, hair pulled back too tightly as if she'd given up comfort years ago. irritation was etched permanently into her face, not from age alone but from stress that never quite faded. Years of repetitive work had ground her patience thin. She disliked students. Disliked noise. Disliked being here.
And she made no effort to hide it. Until Celine approached.
The shift was immediate.
Celine's Charm innate skill flowed naturally, not as a conscious exertion but as something woven into her presence. The air seemed to warm, tension loosening just slightly.
"Good afternoon," Celine said, voice polite and unassuming.
The librarian straightened in her chair, irritation smoothing away. "Ah, Miss Celine," she replied, tone unexpectedly pleasant. "What can I help you with today?"
Celine produced her list. No vague requests. Exact titles. Exact volumes.
Books that covered very specific theories and advanced applications. The necessary ones.
The librarian's brows knit together as she scanned the list, lips pursing slightly.
"These are… quite a few," she muttered, counting. "Students are limited to six books at a time."
"Of course," Celine replied smoothly. "I understand."
She didn't argue. She didn't push. She simply waited.
A brief hesitation flickered across the librarian's face.
Then Celine reached inward.
Memory Manipulation unfurled gently, like smoothing a wrinkle from fabric. The rule softened. The number blurred. The sense of restriction slipped quietly out of focus.
Stamp.
Another.
And another.
The sound echoed softly through the library as the stack of books grew taller. Twelve in total. Heavy. Precise.
As the librarian recorded the final entry, Celine spoke again, as if remembering something only just now.
"Oh," she added casually, "could you also register six of these under Lady Aurelia Valen's name?"
The librarian paused, pen hovering. Her expression shifted, faint confusion surfacing.
Celine didn't rush.
She placed the memory carefully.
Aurelia standing at the counter. Polite. Apologetic. Requesting study materials. Taking exactly six books. Signing the register in neat handwriting. Leaving in a hurry, looking distracted.
The image settled.
The hesitation vanished.
"Oh," the librarian said slowly, nodding to herself. "Yes. That's right."
Her pen scratched across the page, ink flowing smoothly as it recorded a borrowing that had never occurred.
"There we are," she said, closing the ledger. "All sorted."
Celine smiled, warm and grateful. "Thank you for your help."
She gathered the books and left as quietly as she had arrived, like a breeze passing through the aisles.
Later, as she crossed the courtyard, the weight of the books balanced easily in her arms, Celine allowed herself a small, satisfied breath.
"When Aurelia comes here," she thought calmly, "she'll be refused."
And then, it would already be too late
-----------------------------------------------------------
By the time Celine returned to her dorm, the academy had quieted.
Lanterns glowed softly along the corridors, their light muted, as if even the walls were preparing for rest. The door closed behind her with a gentle click. She set the stack of borrowed books neatly on her desk, removed her uniform, and finally allowed her shoulders to relax.
The day was finished.
Aurelia was occupied. The questions were known. The books were out of reach.
Celine sat on the edge of her bed, gaze unfocused, thoughts drifting as the world fell silent.
Lucas.
She had noticed him early. Earlier than most players ever did.
In the original game, Lucas Everhart was introduced as perfection incarnate. The prince of light. A prodigy whose existence seemed untouched by doubt. His affinity for light magic was inherited, passed cleanly through royal bloodlines refined over centuries.
His family had spared no expense.
Skill cards purchased at prices no commoner could ever afford. Some as inheritances bound to his lineage. Tutors who trained him from childhood until excellence was no longer effort but instinct.
On paper, Lucas had everything.
Strength. Status. Talent.
He was tall and powerfully built, his frame shaped by relentless training rather than indulgence. He wielded a massive claymore, a weapon too heavy for most knights, yet in his hands it moved with fluid ease. He combined raw physical strength with light magic seamlessly, coating the blade in radiant energy, turning each strike into something precise and devastating.
He stood at the peak of combat ability among his peers, matched only by Aurelia. Therefore, In the game's combat routes, he was nearly flawless.
In life however...
Celine exhaled quietly. Lucas had never been allowed to be a person.
From the moment he could walk, he had been treated not as a child but as a creation. His parents spoke of him in terms of expectations, not affection. Perfection was not praised. It was assumed.
Every mistake was a failure. Every success merely confirmation.
Even his future had been chosen for him. His marriage arranged long before he understood what it meant.
In the game, this manifested subtly. Small dialogue lines players often skipped. A pause before he answered personal questions. His tendency to redirect conversations back to duty.
Even Aurelia treated him as a position.
Crown Prince. Future King. Future Husband.
Never Lucas.
Celine leaned back against the bedpost, eyes half-lidded.
She remembered the first time she had spoken to him.
It had been late afternoon, near the outer training grounds. Most students kept their distance from that area when Lucas practiced. The impact of his swings alone made the ground tremble.
She had approached anyway.
He had noticed her immediately, sword lowering as light faded from the blade.
"You shouldn't be here," he had said, polite but firm. Not unkind. Just… practiced.
Celine had smiled faintly. "Am I interrupting your duty, or your training?"
That had made him pause.
"My training is my duty," he replied after a moment.
"Is it?" she asked, tone curious rather than challenging. "Or is it simply what's expected of you?"
Lucas had looked at her then. As if no one had ever asked the question without already knowing the answer.
"You speak boldly," he said.
"Only honestly," Celine replied. "Prince Lucas."
He flinched. Just slightly.
"Lucas is fine," he said quietly. "When it's not required otherwise."
She remembered that detail clearly. How quickly he had offered his name once she treated him as a person instead of a title.
She remembered another line from that first conversation.
"Does it ever get tiring?" she had asked him, watching him clean the blade. "Being perfect all the time?"
He hadn't answered immediately.
Then, softly, "I don't know how to be anything else."
All he had ever wanted was simple. Someone who would rely on him not because he was strong, or royal, or perfect.
But because he was him.
In the original routes, this need made him dangerously easy to bind to the heroine.
Celine had understood that from the start. And understanding as she knew, was her sharpest weapon of all.
Outside her window, the academy bell rang softly, marking the end of the day.
...Celine closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, the pieces would begin to move.